


Go Take A Walk And Chill The Fuck Out.

by giveb



Category: Better Watch Out (2016)
Genre: Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21997924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giveb/pseuds/giveb
Summary: This would happen about 50 minutes into the movie, when Garrett is left alone on the couch.
Kudos: 2





	Go Take A Walk And Chill The Fuck Out.

"Why can't we roofie them both?" And with the wide expanse of the marble countertop, the growing distance between them, it had to be tossed like one shout over to the waterfall in Luke's hands. With the garbage disposal growling, it was like one ship was colliding, crushed into a ball and smashing into the rocks and avalanche of his hands. Even as the hours had passed on like one string of yarn and absolutely twisted fate, the stack of papers and layers of PDFs regarding pickup artist work, the mountain of perfumed information graced by candle-lit images created a castle setting for this scene. Instead of Luke being any knight in shining armor, and the princess' chair being taken by Ashley with the secondary throne being for Ricky, his best friend's training and hands were looking like the most nightmarish version of a dungeon torturer. With the buzzing of the disposal blades, and the sheer number of Christmas trees curving around like snakes for decoration, the gift of lilies were sawn and cut down as if by a lumberjack- another manly role for the boy.  
Grabbing another, plucking another branch & bunch of stems, daintily holding something of equal value to the subject of his words, his address to his gloves-wearing subject was, "That was all I had, And even if it wasn't, Jiffy Lube here has a fucking hole in his face." Garret and Luke did not notice the glance and exchange behind them, the look that they shared that wasn't distracted by the number of lights around on the shelves blocking them in, and the opened and unlocked interior white pocket doors that promised freedom through their gates.  
"You really messed things up Ricky. Things just got a whole lot complicated for me and Garret." Luke had taken stand in front of the duck-tape cages after having pat Garret on the back while moving around the kitchen island. It could have been a sign to keep your head up, of encouragement, but the result was another slump and lean over the counter. It was reminiscent of the number of times that Garret had bent over any porcelain rims resulting from any trials and tribulations of drinking champagne or any spirits. Resignation. Draining.  
Silence.  
Then there's a rip and tear. Looking down at the polished face and countertop, all he hears is the slight adjustment of the tape.   
"Just let Ricky go-" and the bouncing line and swift blade goes to "-We both know I can't do that-" and the woven tapestry and rugs, rungs and rags of "-Look, We can say that he fell on an exposed nail or something." Garrett's train of thought goes up the stairs towards Luke's bedroom. Instead of the son and sitter hiding behind the closet doors, what would have happened if they hid under the bed? Would there have been anything that, if his ankles were reached out to and caught, he would have landed face first in what? The figurines, the cords tanged across the sidelines, unplugging any cables, cracking the static electricity stand, CD's spilled, papers torn, lego blocks, and one great big smash into the fetus machine. He wouldn't even be able to call it as one sock-and-tile slide and misstep. With the lounge chairs and all he probably wouldn't have knocked his head against the cabinet and nightstand corners. With the number of blue free-standing shelves and the books on spiders sprawled out, Luke's decoration was similar to the Buzz McCallister's tarantula cage. And over on the laptop there, during the network fiasco, he had...  
The polar bear claw of a sound that caught the slippery fish of his attention was his name. Ashley's spearhead was "Garret can go with him to verify the conversation with his roommate." The rest of her narrative and solution was all sounding plausible, and even though this twisted night was the first night that he had met Ricky, lying and describing the fictional turn of the screw and events to someone as old as his own brother would have been okay. It would have been fine, it would have been what he wanted, to spin the tale that he desperately wanted to be a reality.  
"What if she's serious?" was the thought that went straight out. As clear cut as the marble, her explanation was almost as if it was part of the house- she could help everyone out, there was lights off everywhere, it was all laid out the best and- It was starting to sound like Mice and Men, sounding like hamsters and deer, her plan of action being as flimsy as one dust bunny. "You've got a lot to learn about women" was the straw that broke the camel's back and tipped the board and ark all in his favor. Yes, he hadn't really read the majority of the text there, only scouting out for the images and flicks. And back at the attempted break in and pretend robbery, did he really know how to repent and witness Ashley's torment and torrent of berating shouts? Bearing witness and front row seating to her command, it was all just questionable with how the text messages were handled. It was just all suspicious when it comes to the argument, when it comes to his whereabouts after her first blackout, what his ultimate multitask had been. It was all weaving together and falling into place, taking the torch and line of reasoning after Ashley had been duck-taped yet again. "You texted Ricky, didn't you?"   
And his relaxed statement back didn't calm down or put out the flame curled into a question mark, but the two strode over to Ricky's phone on the table and in those couple of steps and seconds Luke already had another excuse for leaving these plans out in the dark.  
"What else do you have planned? What else are you going to lie to me about?" And even though everything in his field of vision is pale blue, he's seeing blithering, searing red.  
"Garrett. Go take a walk and chill the fuck out." That's the steam release valve, that's the perfect chess move or set of words to say, given the number of times that he's stormed out of previous events. To take your smoke break outside of the war room and command center.  
"Garrett, Garret no, Please don't go!" Those pleas took a second to pleat out, and even though it would have been honorable to stay by her side, habit won out. Luke was right, this was another rope that she could pull, another act to be played and did he know any better?  
"Just take another oxy if you have to." Something to nod and tip your hat to, that's hit-the-nail-on-the-head right. And it would be better to relax where it's in his field of view and lounge where it all started. After plopping down, Garrett looks around at the dismay and section of the table where he would usually put his feet up on. He eyes the remote, the dvd keep-case, the crust and partial slice that Ricky left down in his hurry. If it wasn't involving any hostage situation like tonight, this layout and mess would have been in the library of familiar sights, how the two of them would sometimes leave their belongings around like until the last minute. When he closed his eyes, the blue gaze and glow of the fish tank crept underneath his lids. There was no top on the glass container, providing an easy access, the biggest gosh-darn hole possible to stick the net through. Gap in the glass, slash, slit, and split in the screen mesh- Swimmy & Nemo were opera singers, reminders of poor LeBron. The oxy pill bottle comes into focus as Luke shakes off the water off the plastic-protected cellphone. As Luke walks away and towards the flames and furnace again, Garret reaches towards his right, lightly cusps the container and slowly takes one out.   
There's a corkscrew, an eye-spy reveals a butter knife, and there's the bottle opener, but the regular kitchen knife that was in-use before wasn't in reach, and his own switchblade had been left out in Ashley's tire. He takes the capsule and dents it with the main edge of the bottle opener, but the point is too large to wedge between the half-divider. The corkscrew's next, and after sniffing the cork (and not registering anything. Is it only something to do when showing off?) the final result is with the point slipping off the center and poking his poor thumb with one small gasp. The final contender and last instrument shatters and chips off about half of the tablet, and that crushed portion is what he takes with a full cup.  
_Wonderful, Wonderful. Wonderful, Wander-ful, Wands. Wanderlust?  
It's like the cold red paint and growing bruise has been whipped into hot-cold cream, it's like the paintball gun's shot had become laffy-taffy or starbursts. What was there to worry about anyway? There's this waterfall of downtime, the plan must be bullet-fool-pillow-fight-proof to give him moments like this. He's the gatekeeper, and the night ahead has the lax duty of keeping the two captives quiet. Or they're an audience- He could rap, ramble, perform his standup routine, and they'd listen! And it's another fabulous night with his best friend after all, tonight's another carnival of life.... Isn't there that deal of torture of having one song played over and over again, and wouldn't this be the night to test this? Top 40's hundred times over, or what would be the most annoying song out there... There's the ukelele upstairs that could be poorly tuned and squeak out the worst-ever rendition of the Adventure Time opening. Absolute cloud nine and the Red Bull slogan of gaining wings, every step has been featherweight. Without the scooter in tow, the path being traced clips and skips the futon and tree skirt completely by heading towards the front entrance.   
The door had usually been one great announcer and separator of acts, but after some seconds of spitting on the hinges, he's able to creak the door open enough to slip through. It's stark cold outside, and all of the falling snow provides a reason to shiver. Stepping onto the porch, clearing anything off the welcome mat, Garrett hears the faintest little chorus, and cleaning off his glasses provides the image that there are indeed carolers further down the street. They're looking like ants, covered by their little drapery loads of magenta and navy and crocodile, but would their antenna pick up his scream? He sniffles back tears as he takes in another (what could be his last) star-studded Christmas outside of prison and juvenile hall. Which one of these neighbors is even out of town, and could he even reenact another break-in with a new mansion layout when trying to reach help? What if they had dogs, attack dogs? Maybe instead of crossing the street to ask about their phone line, he could ding-dong ditch the resident there?  
There's then another light coming down the street and set of headlamps dissecting the street, and he sidesteps behind one of the wooden columns, getting out of any spotlight. With what the hour was, there probably were some parties already closing out, people taking their irish goodbyes. It would be nice to linger around and see how every breath condenses, something falling under the umbrella of ifyouhigh, but what if anyone spotted him out here? No eggs or TP to defend himself out here with. The last bit and cup of information he takes in would be the smashed in snowman nearby. Oh, if those three layers were still cobbled together, wouldn't it be neat to jump and crash into that? What's it called afterwards? Crushed. Shaved? Something related to sand castles? Uh.... Snow Angels. That's the ticket.  
Dancing, Grooving, Boogying back into the foyer, he realizes what other fact had slipped his mind. Seriously, the weed! Where was it? The first shilly-shallying stumbles were towards the staircase, and the memory that appears would be when his break-in facade was broken down. The moment didn't last too long, and it started when Luke left to grab the Princess-and-the-Pea pistol. Right as the laundry-and-dryer buzzer went off, right here by the coat rack, Garrett had seen his right-hand-man upstairs give thumbs up and mouth out "GREAT-JOB" with a wink. After taking off the ski mask and nodding with glee, it was ten Mississippi's before acting out the NPC role of one stalking security guard or night-shift cop and continuing the search. Apart from the drying floors and set of gloves due to Ricky's wound, and the baseball bat left gingerly aside, his hash wouldn't be upstairs. Did it fly out when he hit the snow? Could it still be potent after it could have been frozen like that? Needle in a haystack, but it was the whole garden.His canine senses led him towards the living room and starting mark of this race again. Instead of sitting down or putting two paws on the tabletop to give the positive test reading for fireworks, he rested on the carpet nearby the piano. I once tried sniffing coke but the ice cubes kept on getting stuck, I adopted a drug-sniffing dog and he's got trouble quitting, or he's only still training because it couldn't catch a whiff of what I've got! Bacon-tree, Ham-Bush..._  
The lighter had always been in his pocket, and the roach was in his perspective, flung out when he landed during his earlier trip through Candy-land. Awesome, it wasn't crushed and the payload wasn't wasted, and there was also another tiny baggie around to spilt and share- They've had the competition before of rolling out cross-shaped blunts, turkey shaped ones, weird-bent-fucked-up creations. If the fido-act could have been continued, Garrett earned five paws of applause with his rollover towards Ricky and Ashley's rushed conversation, and a good-boy on standing up with the main cabinet as footing, ears at attention to the last line said before the minor door slammed shut.  
The lighter had been running through his fingers like some coin-passing trick, and he ignored the kitchen stove where he would usually light up. He was up against the throw pillows again, and the mumbling out there in the inferno of fire and brimstone was pretty silent. He swore he could have heard someone say fuck earlier, and what else? Anyway, Garrett sets up his little bonfire and 420 torch, lingering with the spark and gas on because of how beautiful the flame is. The beginning dab and puffs were all comforting and regular, and any unease was squeezed away. It'll be merry for... everyone? Or at least for himself. Enough to pass around and ring around the rosie.  
"GARRETT, WHAT THE FUCK!!!" It was earth-shattering, he was masterful at hitting that REEEE-note. Luke tugged at his own hair as he stomped and pulled in closer.  
But that tone of voice had been used for millions, eons of occasions before. Garrett shrugged and didn't register the heightened meaning, tapping out the ash on the clay ashtray. It had been Luke's art and crafts project at least three years ago. "What man? You told me to calm down?"  
Garrett sunk and receded further as Luke waved around the air and searched for any smoke alarms. His mind was going miles-a-minute over the surface area and list of things that the cloud soaked into. Maybe Garrett crashed landed from another planet, or recently came out of his decade-long Alaskan hermit retreat, because who would have replaced their voice box with a building fire alarm? "NOBODY'S SMOKING WEED IN THE HOUSE!"  
"Well, next time be more specific."  
"You moron! My Mom's gonna kill me!"  
"Stop bossing me around." It was just like the whole pristine white carpet dilemma, and four-eyes gestured to shoo away while staying criss-cross applesauce on the cushion, taking in another hit.  
"Give it to me."  
He furrowed and raised an eyebrow. "Nooo?"  
"Give it." It was the easiest fight ever, weaker than all puppy-football- It only required the plucking movement of nabbing the joint out of his hand.  
"No, Hey!" The Jake to his Finn gets up and trails after the kid. Garrett steps back into the cold shark-tank and hurricane's eye, the control room, and he notices the tape hanging off, the marks around the cuffs, and the bloodied sock stuck in Ashley's pocket. It's another polar lap and plunge into the purge of this night.


End file.
